


Healthy

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousin Incest, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 12:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Fingon’s met one of Valinor’s few troubles.





	Healthy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FactorialRabbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactorialRabbits/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for factorialrabbits’ “5 for Maedhros and Fingon [a kiss where it doesn’t hurt]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/176075204220/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Nelyafinwë races through the streets in record time, and the other elves he passes wisely step aside for him. He comes with a purpose, shirking his morning training in favour of something more important. He heard the servants whispering of it, and though, when confronted, they promised they heard nothing grave, Nelyafinwë’s heart still hammers in his chest. He reaches the House of Healing faster than he ever has. The door is already open, as it always is, which saves it from being slammed open in the face of his rush.

The reception room inside is all but empty. There is no receptionist, as with many other practices, as there is no need—this place is rarely used, and if Nelyafinwë had his way, it never would be at all. The door to the Healer’s office is closed, likely with a patient, and only one occupant sits in waiting. Nelyafinwë storms over, falling right down to one knee, and envelopes that patron in a fierce, tight hug.

Findekáno breathes, “Nelyo—” then cuts off in a short hiss of pain. Nelyafinwë instantly eases off, slackening his grip and pulling back, frowning up at Findekáno’s handsome face. Findekáno offers him a reassuring smile, but Nelyafinwë doesn’t miss the slight wince sheathed beneath it. There’s a light bruise marring Findekáno’s cheek, dirt caked along his throat, and the robes at his shoulder are fraying on the verge of tears. There is no blood that Nelyafinwë can see, but that’s a small consolation. Findekáno reaches out to rake a hand back through Nelyafinwë’s hair, petting him as though _he’s_ the one in need of comfort. Findekáno soothes, “I am well.”

Evidently, he isn’t, though Nelyafinwë’s not surprised that Findekáno’s putting on a brave face. Of all his many glowing qualities, he’s valiant above all things. Yet _something_ took him down. Nelyafinwë asks, “What happened?”

“I fell from my horse,” Findekáno answers, a slight chuckle in his voice, though Nelyafinwë doesn’t see anything funny about it. “Unfortunately, we were along the rocky shore, and I took a bit of a tumble in the chaos.” 

The thought of Findekáno’s gorgeous body, as well toned and strong as it is, falling to jagged stone, makes Nelyafinwë’s stomach churn. He mutters, “But you are so graceful...”

“But not observant enough, it seems. I did not see the wolf coming, but come it did, and it startled my horse badly. She nearly trampled me in her efforts to escape its snarling jaws. Worse yet, when its damage was done, it ran off again before I could challenge it.”

Nelyafinwë frowns—it’s unlike Findekáno to be bested by an animal, but accidents do happen, and Nelyafinwë’s worry far outweighs any judgment. The important thing is that Findekáno is back and whole. The damage from a terrified horse and feral wolf could’ve been far worse. Nelyafinwë takes one of Findekáno’s hand, holding it gently at first, and then checks, “Does it hurt here?”

“No,” Findekáno answers, sighing, “It is one of the few places that does not.”

Nelyafinwë clutches it. He gives it a tender squeeze, then lifts it to his mouth to brush a kiss over the back. Findekáno laughs again: crystal clear, like fine music. When Nelyafinwë connects their eyes, Findekáno is grinning.

He quietly admits, “My lips are also undamaged.”

Smiling back, Nelyafinwë leans up to bestow another kiss, chaste but lingering, and Findekáno presses into him, warm and lovely. He still smells of the raw earth, of the sweat of riding hard through the wind and facing peril. Nelyafinwë regrets that he wasn’t there—that his beloved Findekáno survived an adventure without his company. Though Findekáno has never needed any help, Nelyafinwë murmurs, “I will come with you next time, and I shall protect you.”

Findekáno snorts and rewards him with a kiss. But then the Healer’s door opens, and Nelyafinwë pulls regretfully away. The last patient steps out, her arm wrapped in bandages but her face otherwise serene. The Healer calls a simple, “Next.”

Findekáno rises. Nelyafinwë holds his hand until he’s gone through the door, and then Nelyafinwë waits outside, until the two of them can ride home together, free of wolves and pain.


End file.
